


Four Days

by geekyjez



Series: Isii Lavellan [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 05:39:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5445263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekyjez/pseuds/geekyjez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Solas hears of the miraculous woman who stumbled out of the Fade, he is eager to offer his services to help. </p><p> </p><p>  <i>The first four days after the destruction of the Conclave, from Solas's POV.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Days

_—Day One—_

“Do we know anything about the prisoner?” Solas asked calmly as he followed the Seeker. “Perhaps her background holds some clue as to how she obtained this scar you speak of.”

“No,” the woman answered, her voice low and tense. Even as she guided him down the set of stone steps, her face was pulled into a look of severity that was not difficult to read. She was angry. Frightened. She did not trust him. Solas did not blame her for that. She had little reason to. Convincing her to allow him access to the prisoner had not been easy and he was certain her suspicions were raised. “We do not know her name nor where she came from. She is Dalish, which makes her presence at the Conclave suspect. Her people had no place in these negotiations.”

“Do you truly believe she was here for some nefarious purpose?”

Cassandra shot him a look that would have probably struck fear in him, if he were the sort of man he claimed to be. “It is no longer a question of _what_ she was sent here to do but _why,_ ” she said sharply. “The Dalish are certainly aware of the chaos this conflict between the mages and Templars has produced. Perhaps they wish to use this war for their own purposes - stage an uprising while the Chantry is weakened. For all we know, this could only be the beginning.”

Solas said nothing. There was no purpose in arguing. He knew their elven prisoner was not responsible for the explosion at the Conclave, but her fate had all but been decided by the people of Haven. Perhaps they would stage a trial of some sort, but he doubted it would be anything more than a lynch mob dressed up in the guise of civility. Maybe it was a blessing, then, that she would most likely die before they had a chance to slip a noose around her neck.

Cassandra pushed her way past a heavy wooden door. The air was stale with sweat and dust, the subtle stench of damp stone and lamp oil hanging like a thick fog. Two men stood guard at the end of the room, their faces pulled tight, their eyes darkened as if they would happily kill their charge if given the order. Another man knelt behind the heavy iron bars, hunched over the slumped and unconscious figure, her body half-obscured in shadow.

“This mage is here to study the scar on the prisoner’s hand,” the Seeker said firmly to the guards. The men nodded, muttering their acknowledgement as one of them stepped forward to unlock the cell door. The human inside stood up, wiping his hands on the front of his robes.

“Does this mean I can go?” he asked brusquely. “Fat lot of good I’m doing here. I don’t know what you expect me to do with _this_ , Lady Cassandra,” he added, gesturing to the unconscious elf.

“I expect you to keep her alive, Adan.”

The man let out an irritated breath as Solas stepped into the cell. He knelt down beside the prisoner, his eyes scanning her form. She was shackled, slumped against the wall like a broken doll. Her head hung forward, long pale curls obscuring her face, her hair half-pulled from what once was a braid. The strands were caked with sweat and dirt, as was the rest of her, her body clothed in layers of bulky shemlen armor. He reached out, pulling gently at her wrists, turning her palms upward. There, on her left hand, was the answer to his suspicions.

She had the anchor embedded within her.

“How is she?” he asked.

“Damned if I know,” Adan answered curtly. He moved swiftly past the cell door. “And unless you plan on locking me up with her again, Seeker, I have to take an inventory of the supplies I’ve got on hand. They’ve got to be rationed out if you’re not going to do anything about refilling them.”  

“You are needed here.”

“Look, I patched her up as best I could, but I’m no healer. This is a waste of my time and talents.”

“I can tend to her, to the best of my ability,” Solas said plainly. “Stabilizing her condition would assist me in assessing the mark on her hand.”

Cassandra paused to consider this, her eyes narrowing. “Fine,” she said firmly. She turned her gaze to Adan, pointing a finger sharply toward his chest. “But I will still expect you to check on her and report to me on her progress.” The man muttered something under his breath as he turned to leave. The Seeker’s eyes darted to Solas once more before settling on the guards. “Lock the cell. Watch them both carefully,” she muttered under her breath.

Solas couldn’t help but feel some apprehension as he heard the cell door close behind him. He knew his situation there was tenuous at best. If he was not careful, he had no doubt the Seeker would see him in chains. This world was not kind to mages. Superstition was a powerful and ugly thing - now, as it had always been.

He returned his attention to the prisoner, cupping her hand in his own. Her skin was damp with sweat, her breaths shallow and labored. He ran his thumb gently over the scar, the anchor thrumming to life beneath his touch.

_What had Corypheus been thinking?_

This didn’t make any sense. Solas had thought his thirst for power would make the magister seek the anchor for himself but _this_? This was not what he had predicted. Had it been an accident or had Corypheus thought to use this girl as his instrument? Perhaps he knew the mark’s deadly effects and had sought to use her as a subject for experimentation? His intentions mattered little now. The man had destroyed himself in accordance with Solas’s plan. The fact that he had not yet retrieved the orb was troublesome - but Cassandra’s people were still searching for it. Once it was found, perhaps he could proceed without the anchor. But compensating for the loss of it would take time - time he may not have with the Veil destabilizing so quickly.  

He traced the anchor with his fingertips, calling upon the energy within her. Maybe if he could draw it out, like easing a splinter from flesh, _maybe_ he could solve two problems at once. He could have the anchor for himself like he’d intended and spare this mortal an unpleasant death. He took a slow breath and focused, trying to gently coax the energy from its vessel, but the resistance was too strong. He furrowed his brow, trying again, pulling harder as the anchor flared beneath his touch with a crackling burst. Her body jerked roughly in response, heels digging against stone as her back arched. A half-conscious scream tore through her chest as her head flew back, hitting the wall, her muscles seizing. Solas halted, letting out a frustrated huff as he reached forward, pressing his palm to her cheek. He shushed her instinctively as he cast and soon her fit calmed, her breaths continuing to race as she fell still.

It wasn’t going to be that simple. With more power, he was certain he could draw it from her. Without the orb, though, it would remain trapped.

If he had any hopes of using the anchor to stabilize the Veil, he would have to keep her alive. But even that was a slim hope. The use of the anchor required intent. Understanding. The power to shape it to one’s will. How could she ever achieve that, even if she survived long enough to regain consciousness?

Solas moved his hand from her cheek, brushing her hair further back from her face, truly looking at it for the first time. Though her features were youthful, she was not a young woman. Her skin was a dark auburn, blemished by the pale lines that marked her as June’s property. Her nose was long and straight, sloping smoothly from her brow, her lips thick and full where they parted around her panting breaths. She had a face that would have been heralded for its beauty in another age. Now, her skin was clammy and dusted with ash, her lips cracked and dry. When he pressed his fingers to her throat, he could feel her pulse racing, her heart pounding from the strain of the anchor.

It was never meant to be held within a mortal host.

“Ir abelas,” he whispered, barely giving the words breath. His remorse was genuine. This stranger, whoever she was, however insignificant she had been before this moment, should not have to suffer like this because of his flawed judgement.

He would do what he could to help her.

He had no other choice.

 

_—Day Two—_

The guards objected at first when Solas laid back, closing his eyes to try and slip into the Fade. They told him he was there to work, not to sleep. He told them curtly that he was working and not to interrupt him again. He did not care if they were displeased. He’d spent hours trying everything he could think of. His head was aching, his mana spent and still she showed no signs of improvement. The Fade offered little insight. He had hoped to find Wisdom, but his friend had been driven away by the Breach as had many of her kin. The tear in the Veil created an unsettling turbulence. The only spirits drawn to it were ones seeking conflict. They would be of no help to him.

The prisoner’s fits started in the early morning hours. He awoke to find her thrashing against her restraints, pulling until her skin was raw. She’d slid down from her seat against the wall, curled in on her side. Solas reached for her, gripping her arms to try and steady her. She whimpered at his touch, trying desperately to pull away as her breaths quickened.

“Stop, stop, please…” Her voice was small, the words slurred and yet distinct.

“It’s alright,” he murmured. “You’re safe.” It was a lie, of course, but one that he thought may calm her.

“There are too many of them… too many…” Her legs were kicking as if to scramble away, chains rattling with each jerk of her body. Solas pulled her closer until her shoulders were turned toward his lap. She shuddered, whimpering as he guided his fingers against her temple, casting a soothing pulse of energy that he hoped would help.  

“There is no one here but me,” he whispered. “And I am not going to hurt you.”

Her speech was not a sign of waking as he’d first assumed. Instead she muttered incoherently, speaking of the grey, of broken stone and mist, of creatures pursuing her, of eyes burning in the darkness. She was frightened, though he found her trembling was soothed somewhat by touch. He guided his hand in slow circles on her back, drawing her closer so he could heal the broken skin on her wrists. Her breaths shook with small sobs whenever the anchor flared, though he found he could counteract the effect somewhat when he cupped his palm over her own, dampening the energy trapped within her.

This was only a stalling tactic to ease her on her path toward the inevitable. He could not remove the anchor from her. He had no way of waking her. If she died, she would take the mark with her - and he would not know how to stop any of this. Solas leaned his head against the wall, his eyes closing, the dying stranger half-curled against his body, writhing as she pulled against the shackles that held her.

He never should have given away the orb.

***

“You’re lying!”

Solas grunted as his back hit the wall, the Seeker’s fist gripping the front of his tunic as she glared at him. The guards behind her visibly tensed. “I am only attempting to help, Cassandra.”

“An elf destroys the Conclave and emerges from the Fade. And then you, an elven apostate who had no business here conveniently appears, proclaiming knowledge of the Breach. The second you heard about the prisoner, you insisted on seeing her. Why?”

“Because the mark you described seemed significant. And _it is._ That scar on her hand is tied directly to the energy that is currently tearing the Veil apart. Each time that mark flares, the Breach expands and she draws closer to death.”

“If you know this, then why haven’t you made any progress?”

“I cannot simply _will_ her into consciousness, Seeker,” Solas snapped. “Perhaps if I had the artifact that was used to create it-”

“There _is_ no artifact, Solas,” she shouted. “We have scoured the rubble. There is nothing there.”

His eyes widened as he studied her face. He frowned, shaking his head. “No. There has to be.”

“There isn’t,” she insisted. “And I am beginning to suspect you only sent us on that errand as a distraction.”

“For what purpose?” he asked incredulously.

“To have access to the mark?” she suggested. “Maybe you wish to accelerate the Breach’s expansion-”

“That is absurd,” he countered, but her grip only tightened.

“You _know_ that girl,” she growled, pointing to the locked cell at the end of the room. “You know _exactly_ what has happened here and you are going to tell me the truth - or I will have you executed here and now for your apostasy.”

Solas froze, a chilling calm falling over his features as he stared back at the Seeker. “The first time I ever laid eyes on that woman was yesterday when you brought me here,” he said firmly. “You threaten me with execution - but remember that I knowingly took that risk when I approached you in the first place. I am here to help. If by some miracle she wakes up, that mark may be the only chance we have of stopping this. But in order for that to happen, you have to trust me.”

For a tense moment, the Seeker was silent, studying his face through a tight glare. She released his tunic with a shove, taking a small step backward. “Continue your work,” she ordered, “and pray to the Maker that you succeed.”

He straightened his clothing with a sharp tug, his jaw set as he turned wordlessly back toward the cell.

 

_—Day Three—_

Adan’s elfroot extract seemed to be helping. Solas carefully dripped the liquid onto her tongue, careful not to give the prisoner too much. If he rushed the process, she would merely aspirate the potion - and the last thing she needed was fluid in her lungs. The guards seemed to watch him with a renewed suspicion ever since the Seeker’s outburst. They appeared hesitant each time he asked to leave the cell.

He wondered if there would come a time where they would outright refuse to let him go.

Solas quietly made plans for an escape that now seemed almost inevitable. If observing humans had taught him anything, it was that their trust did not extend far for his kind. He believed Cassandra’s threats of execution were genuine. If he did not produce results, he would no longer be seen as an asset and they would treat him as they would any other mage who lived outside the control of the Chantry. The Breach was continuing to grow. He could feel it - sense it every time he closed his eyes. If it remained open, if it continued to expand at this rate - he would have to flee. Without the orb, there was no other option. Perhaps he could find some way to bolster his power elsewhere before the Veil collapsed completely. If it did, then all was lost. This world would burn along with any hope of restoring what once was.

He let out a hushed, bitter laugh at the thought. A fitting end, perhaps, for this foolish path he’d started on centuries ago.

A commotion in the hall beyond the dungeon drew him from his thoughts. The heavy slam of a door, along with the sound of footsteps and raised voices echoed in the stairwell leading down to the cells. The guards tensed, one of them moving swiftly to secure the entry into the room, reaching for the door just as it burst inward. The dense wood slammed into him, sending him sprawling, his head smacking hard onto the stone with a loud crack as four men stormed into the room. The moment was chaotic, a sudden flurry of movement as three of them fell upon the remaining guard, the other diverting to search the fallen man.

The overpowered guard was stripped of his sword with relative ease. “Unlock the cell,” one of the intruders ordered brusquely.

Solas stood, placing himself between the prisoner and the cell door. “What is the meaning of this?”

None of them answered. The demand to open the cell was made again, the guard’s response interrupted only by the fourth man who stooped over the fallen soldier. “I’ve got the keys,” he announced triumphantly, stripping them off of the guard’s belt.

Solas watched as the man moved quickly to the cell door, searching for the correct key to unlock it. “What are you doing?” Solas asked again.

“Seeking justice,” one of them muttered. “That bitch killed the Divine. Destroyed the Temple of Sacred Ashes. We cannot let that stand.”

“You have no proof of her guilt!” Solas snapped. A key went into the lock, the man turning it with no success. He tried again with the next key. Solas began to summon, energy crackling at his fingertips. “I will not let you take her.”

“Stand aside, knife ear,” one of the men barked. “This doesn’t concern you.”

There was a loud clack and suddenly the man at the cell door bowled forward, howling in pain as the keys clattered onto the stone. A bolt jutted from his shoulder as a second slid into place, the crossbow clicking as the dwarf in the doorway reloaded.

“No one is getting lynched today,” Varric said firmly, holding his weapon steady as he eyed the intruders. “And unless one of you wants to volunteer as target practice, I highly recommend kicking those keys over this way.”

For a tense moment, no one moved. Slowly, the bleeding man placed his foot over the key ring, sending them skittering across the floor. Varric stooped down to pick them up, never lowering his weapon.

“See? This doesn’t have to get ugly,” he said with a nod, stepping aside to clear the doorway. “Now, why don’t you head back into the village and get your buddy’s shoulder patched up?”

The men hesitated, considering their options. Ultimately, they chose to take Varric’s advice, the dwarf tracking them in his crossbow’s sights as they filed back into the stairwell. He lowered it only when their footsteps grew distant, eyeing the guards. The man on the floor groaned, a dazed hand moving to his brow. “Looks like he took quite a hit. You should probably get him up to Adan’s cabin. Get his head looked at.” Varric met the other guard’s hesitation with a shrug. “You can tell the Seeker it was my idea. She hates me anyway.”

When the room was clear, Varric strode toward the bars, swinging the keys idly around his finger. “Bastards got a lot closer this time.”

“This time?” Solas asked, his brow arching.

Varric nodded. “Second time today someone’s tried to rush in here and kill her.” His matter-of-fact tone made it more than clear he wasn’t surprised. He propped his shoulder against one of the bars, peering in. “So that’s the lady in question, huh?”

Solas nodded, glancing down at the elven woman. She had curled onto her side in his absence, murmuring quietly to himself. “Pretty thing, isn’t she?” Varric muttered pityingly. “Not that it’s going to make any difference in the long run.”

“I appreciate your assistance,” Solas said plainly. The dwarf simply shrugged again.

“I’m not a big fan of angry mobs.”

“Does this mean you believe she is innocent?”

Varric’s brows lifted. “In my experience, when a person plans on blowing up a building, they’re not gonna be inside when it happens.”

Solas heard the crackling buzz of the anchor flaring mere seconds before she cried out in pain. He knelt beside the prisoner once more, slipping his hand into hers, dampening the mark’s energy with his own. It took a moment for her writhing to cease, her cries lowering to soft, pitiful whimpers.

“Do you think she’s going to make it?” Varric asked, his voice low and quiet, as if he was concerned that she would hear. “Is she going to wake up?”

“I don’t know,” Solas answered, brushing hair back from her face. Her brow was tensed with pain, but her breathing was slowing into a steadier rhythm. “She is in better form than she was yesterday. That is all I can say.”

“Well shit is getting weird outside,” the dwarf said bluntly. “Sure hope you know how to fight, cause chances are this place is going to be crawling with demons soon if things keep going the way they are now.”

Solas felt the prisoner’s fingers curl around his hand. It was a loose grip, but a grip nonetheless. He studied her features as she stirred, her eyes still closed. Lips parted as she wet them, moving as if she wanted to speak, but nothing but a soft sigh escaped her. He tightened his hold on her hand, running his thumb along her cheek and she turned toward it as if seeking his touch. She tried to speak again but there were no words, just a confused, murmured sound.

She did not move further, seeming to slip away again from that brief brush against consciousness.

“Name’s Solas, right?” Varric asked. The elf nodded absentmindedly. “Haven’t seen much of you since the Conclave went sky-high. You booked it out of the tavern pretty quick once the dust settled.”

“I sought the source of the explosion,” he explained smoothly. “Once I learned of the woman who stumbled out of the Fade, I have spent much of my time here.”

“You taking breaks, at least?” the dwarf asked, “Cause from where I’m standing, you look like you could use some sleep.”

“I have slept.”

“In a real bed?”

Solas paused. “Occasionally.”

“You know, you’re not going to be much help around here if you run yourself raw,” Varric pointed out. “Nothing like a hoard of demons breathing down your neck to make you think twice about skipping a good night’s sleep.”

“While I appreciate the sentiment, I will be fine.”

“Seriously, though,” the dwarf pressed. “To put it bluntly, you look like shit.” Solas’s brow furrowed. “Take a couple hours. Get some rest. It’s not like she’s going anywhere.”

Solas let out a slow breath. The man did have a point. He was drained - and catching brief naps on a hard stone floor was not doing him any favors. If more rifts opened, he would need to be alert.

“Don’t worry,” Varric added, seeing his hesitation. He patted his crossbow. “Bianca and I will make sure she’s still here in the morning.”

 

_—Day Four—_

Damn that dwarf.

“Glad you got some sleep now, Chuckles?” Varric chimed as he cranked his crossbow back, firing another shot before the demon could recover from the first strike. Solas’s eyes narrowed into a glare, his jaw set tightly as he cast.

He regretted taking the man’s advice. Sleeping left him restless, the Fade offering nothing but a churning sense of dread the longer he lingered within it. He’d returned to the dungeons at daybreak only to be turned away by the men guarding the entry. Apparently the prisoner had been slipping in and out of consciousness throughout the night. Adan was called in his stead- the apothecary predicting that she would wake soon. The Seeker deemed her ready for interrogation and had ordered that no one was to be allowed access until she’d had the chance to question her. Despite his objections, Solas was barred from checking on her condition.

He was frustrated. Frightened. New rifts were still opening and he felt hopeless to stop it. He could not wait on the slim chance that the anchor would be of any use to him, trapped within a mortal. Chances were she wouldn’t even be able to control the energy inside her. How could she, half-formed as she was? It wasn’t in her nature to be able to bear such power. The Veil was his construct. His responsibility. He had to be able to do this on his own. Solas left Haven, determined to try again. One last time. One last attempt. If he failed, he would have his answer and there would be no choice but to flee.

Varric had insisted on accompanying him. He told him he was crazy for trying to head out on his own. Solas didn’t have the energy to argue.

Each new wave of demons made their efforts there seem futile. No matter what he tried, the rift only grew, more spirits being driven through into the physical plane. Retreat was inevitable. Still, they had little choice but to press on. Solas cast again, a sweeping wave of frost slowing the demons long enough for Varric to land a few solid hits. The others advanced on him, perhaps sensing that he was the greater threat and he was ill-prepared for a close-quarters fight. He felt an unfamiliar tugging at the Veil, a stream of bright, flickering shocks of electricity flying into his field of vision as lightning chained through three of his attackers. He could not slow, could not pause to look for the source as he continued to fight, focusing his energy on the ones who escaped the stunning blow. Another bolt flew from Varric’s crossbow. Another demon cried out in pain. He could see Cassandra run into the fray, sword swinging to catch one of them in the neck, nearly taking its head clean off in the process. Solas heard a straining shout as a figure ran up beside him, swinging a staff like a club to knock her target back before lightning consumed its body.  

His eyes met hers for only a moment. The prisoner stood before him, sweating and winded. She was a mage. _Interesting._ Her gaze shifted and in one sweeping motion she arched her weapon back, swiftly cutting through the air, her whole body thrust into the arch of it as she slammed the end of her staff into the ground. Another wave of crackling lightning burst like a whip, careening past him, his eye following in time to see the demon that had rushed him from behind being knocked to the ground in a trembling heap.

He stared up at the rift, the tear pulsing as the spirits pressed against it, the air thick and saturated with their straining. He lunged forward, grabbing the woman sharply by the wrist. “Quickly, before more come through!”

This had to work. If it didn’t, then all was lost. Everything he had hoped for, everything he had worked for, would be for nothing. He dragged her closer, jerking her outstretched hand toward the rift. With a crack, the anchor burst open, a blade of light cutting through to the tear. She gasped, her arm stiffening in surprise but he held her steady. He could feel the rift buckle under the pressure, resisting the force of the mark. His fingers tightened around her wrist and he felt her muscles clench reflexively. He could sense the energy moving through her - not merely a hollow vessel but driven now by some instinct he could not have predicted as she pulled back against it, her hand closing into a fist. The blast was deafening, a concussive wave washing over them as a flash of blinding light forced his eyes closed.

When he opened them once more, the tear was gone.

The rift was closed.

Relief flooded his senses, his elation nearly throwing him into a fit of laughter at the absurdity of it all. This impossible woman -  this mortal who has survived the unsurvivable, who stumbled through the Fade, who had magic she could not hope to comprehend trapped within her - had bent the very fabric of reality to her will. He could not suppress his grin as she pulled away, staring down at her hand before her eyes lifted again, looking to him for some explanation. He could see them now with more clarity. Combat had blinded him to such details before, but he could see now that they were a brilliant green - stormy clouds of softened jade floating above great depths of emerald. They reminded him of the Fade - though he told himself it was merely his excitement that was making him feel sentimental.

“What did you do?”

His smile broadened further. She didn’t even understand the miraculous thing she had accomplished. “I did nothing,” he said with a nod. “The credit is yours.”

She studied her hand once more, her brow stitched with confusion as she traced the anchor with her thumb. “I closed that thing? How?”

“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized that the mark might be able to close the rifts that opened in the Breach’s wake.” He grinned. “And it seems I was correct.”

“Meaning it could also close the Breach itself,” Cassandra said, sheathing her sword as she approached.

“Possibly,” Solas nodded, returning his gaze to the prisoner as his brows lifted. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

She stared back at him, clearly overwhelmed, though a wary smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. It was strange, seeing her conscious after all the hours he’d spent watching over her. He did not know her, of course. He had no name, nor any idea who she was other than the blatant Dalishness that was marked on her skin. Even so, the past few days had created a sense of familiarity - though to her, he was a complete stranger. It left him with an odd feeling he could not quite pinpoint.

“Good to know,” Varric said, drawing him from his thoughts. “Here I thought we’d be ass deep in demons forever.” He approached the woman with a winning smile. “Varric Tethras,” he began with a nod. “Rogue. Storyteller. And occasionally, unwelcome tagalong,” he added with a wink to Cassandra.

The Seeker scowled.

“Are you with the Chantry, or-”

Solas laughed. “Was that a serious question?”

“Technically, I’m a prisoner. Just like you,” the dwarf answered.

“I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine,” Cassandra explained. “Clearly that is no longer necessary.”

“Yet, here I am,” he said with a shrug. “Lucky for you, considering current events.”

“It’s good to meet you, Varric,” the prisoner said.

“You may reconsider that stance in time,” Solas muttered.

“Aw, I’m sure we’ll become great friends in the valley, Chuckles.”

“Absolutely not,” Cassandra countered. “Your help is appreciated, Varric, but-”

“Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker?” Varric asked. “Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore.” He leaned in with a grin. “You _need_ me.”

Cassandra responded only with a tired _“ugh”_ before walking away.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions,” he offered, nodding to the elven woman with a soft smile. “I am pleased to see you still live.”

“He means _I kept that mark from killing you while you slept,_ ” Varric added.   

The prisoner looked at him with renewed interest, a genuine smile warming her features. “Mine’s Isii,” she said, pressing her hand to her chest. _Isii._ And now he had a name. A rather peculiar one. Not one he was familiar with. “Glad to know someone was watching out for me. I would have hated to have woken up dead,” she said with a smirk.

Varric chuckled. “A sense of humor. That’s a good sign.”

“The burning question is, _what in the Void is this thing and how do I get it out of me?_ ” She lifted her hand, the anchor flaring slightly as she wriggled her fingers. “I’m guessing you’re the one to ask? You seem to know a great deal about all of this.”

“Like you, Solas is an apostate-”

“Technically _all_ mages are now apostates, Cassandra,” he said coolly. “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade. Far beyond the experience of any Circle mage. I came to offer whatever help I could give with the Breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed - regardless of origin.”  

“That’s awfully generous of you,” Isii said. “I’d imagine most people want to stay as far away from the giant hole in the sky as possible.”

“Not generous. Merely sensible. Although sense appears to be in short supply right now.” His eyes narrowed. “And you? Are you prepared to face the Breach?”

“Seems like I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” she said, her arms crossing tightly against her chest.

“I suppose not.” It was not precisely the answer he wanted - yet he reasoned that it was too much to expect her to be enthusiastic about her new role. She was a tool, after all. A necessary, albeit reluctant one.

She must have sensed his disapproval, her brow furrowing. “I’m not exactly eager to find myself imprisoned by the Chantry. Being a mage yourself, you should understand that.”

“One hopes those in power remember who helped - and who did not.”

“For both our sakes,” she added.

Solas nodded, turning his attention to the Seeker. “Cassandra, you should know - the magic involved here is unlike any I have seen. Your prisoner is a mage, but I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power.”

“Understood,” she replied. She eyed Isii warily before a look of determination hardened her features. “We must get to the forward camp quickly.”

The Seeker took off at a brisk pace. Solas followed, stealing a glance over his shoulder as Varric nudged their newest ally.

“Well,” the dwarf said, gesturing with his crossbow as he strolled past her. “Bianca’s excited.”

Isii looked bewildered for a moment, frowning before letting out a tense breath, her steps trailing behind them.

Despite her displeasure, she was the best hope they had. However she came by it, her connection to his anchor made her miraculous - and a miracle was precisely what they needed.

Solas was determined to make the best of this arrangement.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh god, I thought this was going to be a short one-shot. I was wrong. So very, very wrong.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed it!
> 
> Inspired by the notes you can find around Haven:  
>  _  
> —Day One—  
>  Clammy. Shallow breathing. Pulse over-fast. Not responsive. Pupils dilated.  
> Mage says her scarring “mark” is thrumming with unknown magic.  
> Wish we could station a templar in here, just in case._
> 
> _—Day Two—  
>  Pulse normal, breathing normal.  
> Still unresponsive; careful drop-feed of prep. elfroot extract to hasten her recovery.  
> A lot of thrashing. Mutters about too many eyes. Something about “the grey.” Encouraging?_
> 
> _—Day Three—  
>  Less thrashing. Some response to stimulus. Vitals seem solid.  
> Two attempts so far by locals to break into the chantry to kill my patient.  
> All this work to save her life, and will they just execute him/her?  
> Will inform Lady Cassandra I expect him/her to wake before the morn._


End file.
